Gaz's Best Friend
by K. Therese
Summary: Okay. I'm back. It's been a hellish couple of years, but I'm going to finish this if it kills me. Please read and review, though I might not deserve it. I'm begging for it.
1. Gaz's Best Friend

Gaz Membrane, Dib, and Zim are the properties of that magnificent son of a bitch Jhonen C. Vasquez.

Gaz's Best Friend

Every evening, when the wind firmly but gently made its presence known and the sun began to relax its glaring grip on the city where she lived, Gaz would go visit her best friend. Today, she was going to show him her brand new Game-Slave II. She was very excited. It took a lot to excite this jaded child, but this friend was very special. This friend made her proud granite heart feel truly warm and loved. 

She ran down the hill that sloped like a green ocean wave to the park's botanical kingdom of moss, weeds, and trees, all ruled by the king, the great, thick willow. She ran to this emperor, to the south of its girth where she knew her friend would be nestled comfortably in the roots. 

When she got there, she wrinkled her tiny nose and squished her Game-Slave to the chest of her black shirt. "It's a good thing the wind's picked up," she declared.  "You stink." Shock at her own remark filled her face. If it had been anyone else it wouldn't have mattered. But this was the one friend who had the power over her conscience. "I'm sorry," she wavered. "I didn't mean to say that. Do you forgive me?" 

Her face melted soft into a not quite smile. "I can't stay long today. My stupid brother Dib wants me to go check out Zim's house. Zim has green skin and no ears and Dib thinks he's an alien. I just came to show you my new Game-Slave."  She sits by her friend and pushes the button that unpauses it, showing him her agility with the keys for a moment. "That's pretty cool, isn't it? I _knew you would like it!" _

Suddenly she turns and gazes at her friend in reverence. "I…I really like you. I like how we can just sit and be quiet together. We don't even have to say anything, as long as we're together." Gaz's hands unconsciously snatch a small purple lilac growing in the shade. She impulsively puts it in her friend's collar. 

Realizing what she has done, she springs up, embarrassed by her outburst. "I'll see you later," she says, then turns and sprints up the hill, leaving her best friend alone once more.

He would be alone all night. Alone until the next day, when his best friend shows up. Alone, except for the maggots that crawl over the sinews of his exposed knuckle bones, the worms entering and exiting through the eroded holes in his slacks and looping through the scant flesh of this things, and the flies congregating to sip occasionally at the purple lilac in the striped collar of his shirt, but mostly at the bullet hole in the center of his forehead. 

August 28, 2002

With special thanks to Primus for "My Name is Mud" and the Scorpions for "Wild Child."


	2. Deus Ex Machina and His Machine

Jhonen Vasquez has not sold the rights to these characters to me since the last chapter I uploaded. 

I originally intended this story to end at the first chapter, and let everyone draw their own conclusions. And those who want to do that, can. This is simply another universe, with another set of causes and effects. But a reviewer told me that they needed more, and then I needed more. Peer pressure doesn't just hook you on drugs. 

Deus Ex Machina and His Machine

Gaz hated school. She hated her teacher, who treated everyone like a moron. She hated the ugly neon orange and the pus white. She hated the squeaky desks. She hated the disgusting food and the smells of chalk and B.O. She hated the other kids, who all looked the same to her. The other kids made fun of Gaz, and at first it made her angry. Now it just seemed like the music that played in the elevator at her Dad's labs, non-existent. What she noticed amused her slightly, and then was quickly brushed off. 

Gaz did have a close friend though. His (her, it? Gaz didn't give it a sex, that was too physical, and she preferred the mechanical) name was GameSlave.  He was endlessly entertaining. His complicated circuitry was more intelligent than any human brain. And he did exactly what she wanted with just a touch from the tips of her fingers and slight pressure from the pad of her thumb. She would sit on the steps that entered the school, just playing her Gameslave, and her flesh would slowly turn into pixels as her mind dove deeper…deeper…and then the world was gone, and her brainwaves became electric. After winning a game, she would sometimes try to shoot sparks out of her fingertips, certain that she had absorbed some of the machine's essence. But Dib never fell to the ground in a charred heap, even if she poked him between the eyes as hard as she could.  If you can't beat 'em, ignore 'em, Gaz thought, so on that humid, misty afternoon reminiscent of Irish fields and tornado warnings, she perched in her usual place and began her siege on the Vampire Piggies. 

But then she felt something amiss. It wasn't exactly a bad feeling, but it was powerful enough to pull Gaz away from her piggies. She turned her head toward the source of this aura. 

A young man, maybe in his early twenties, was sitting next to her. And that was all she saw of him, as her eyes slid almost sensually down his arms and at the Gameslave he was playing as artfully as a marionette or a cello. 

And Gaz saw something in those hands that she had never seen before in anyone else but herself, something her child's mind wouldn't put into words until much later. In the movement of his long, pale hands, in the flexing of the tendons and the rounding of his knuckles, Gaz saw passion and cool determination. She was losing herself in those movements just as she lost herself in her games. 

"It's pretty cool, isn't it? A little girl shouldn't be looking at such a violent game, though. I could go to jail for corrupting a minor." 

Gaz nearly jumped out of her skin, as much from the sudden stillness of the boy's hands as from the sound of his voice. Se turned and looked at his face. It was softly freckled, the eyes blue, his cheekbones sharp. His hair was dyed red as dried blood and tied back into a loose ponytail that stopped just past the bottom of his neck. His lips were the pinkest she had ever seen, and they were pressed tightly together. Gaz could see the little raspberry colored crescent of moisture on the lower lip. She knew he was trying not to laugh at her, and for once in her life she didn't have a comeback. Finally she fixed his eyes with her fiercest glare. 

"I've seen worse. I've _done much worse." _

His smirk finally broke free. "You know, I don't doubt that, little girl." 

"I may look like just a little girl, but I can make grown men cry." 

"And I certainly don't doubt _that."  And his eyes slid smoothly over Gaz, from her face to her feet. Gaz felt a rush of blood, as if her capillaries had broken and were seeping under her skin. The tingling actually felt kind of good, it made her want to squirm. Her clothes felt like rough ropes and she was suddenly very aware of her panties. She hoped the feeling would pass quickly. She blinked, and when she lifted her lids the man's eyes were back on her face, where they belonged.  _

"Anyway," she said, "I bet I can kill more piggies than you, mister." 

His eyes narrowed as he reached into the pocket of his thin black flannel shirt and, with a flip of the wrist, replaced the cartridge in his GS with Vampire Hunter Piggy. "You are an impetuous child."

"And you are an impetuous man," Gaz said in her most grown-up voice.

The man was fingering his collar. Gaz looked at his neck. It was white and soft, like mozzarella. She pinched herself as hard as she could when she started wondering what it smelled like. "I let you win, you know," he said softly, a little undercurrent smugness in his voice. That pissed Gaz off. If there was anything worse than a better gamer, it was a condescending loser.   

"No you didn't. If anything, I let you get as far as you did." 

He chuckled. "You're right." He turned and looked at her. "My name's Dillion. My friend's call me Dem, for Deus Ex Machina. What's your name?" 

Gaz started to tuck away her GameSlave. "Gaz."

"Gaz what?"

"Gaz Membrane." 

 "As in Professor Membrane?"

"Yeah." She ruffles through her backpack, pulling out games randomly. She doesn't even know why.

"You ever meet the guy?"

She sights heavily. "I _believe I've met my __father."_

"Your father? That's really funny…you don't look much like him." His hands reached out then, and were on her cheeks, turning her face gently. 

Gaz felt paralyzed, like the man's gentle fingers were sharp pens and her face was a blank, pure sheet of paper. The tingly feeling was part joyful anticipation and part sheer terror. His fingertips were under her ears and his thumbs were on the hard bones under her eyes. 

"Let's see…his face is angular, like a rectangle. Yours is fuller, softer…" His hands cupped her cheeks. Gaz felt like she was about to burst. She couldn't look at this man's face, this Dillion, this Dem, so she stared at his neck, at the thin collarbones. This was all so new. No one had ever touched her like this before, and her skin felt very tender, almost painful. It felt good, but she something deep inside her was setting off an alarm. She felt her eyes begin to sting, and it puzzled and frightened her. 

"Gaz. Gaz, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" The voice was sharp, grabbing her. "Look at me. What's wrong?" 

_Crying? I was crying? The word was foreign. Dry lips parted and a tight throat strained. "Nothing." _

"_Look at me!" And the hands suddenly jerked upward, pulling her face along with it. She gasped. She was now looking at his squinting eyes and hard mouth. She didn't know why his face was like that, and she wondered if her crying had angered him. _

His face softened then, his eyes widened. "Gaz, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, I just…" His hands slowly fell from her face, the fingertips softly tracing streaks on her skin. "Do you forgive me?" 

Gaz jumped to her feet. "You didn't scare me, and I wasn't crying." She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She felt him stand up behind her, and she felt angry. She was angry that this man scared her, that he made her cry. She was going to destroy him, kick him in the shin, punch him in the place between his legs that sent Dib and even Torque Smacky down like their bones had liquefied and curled them like shrimp. She whirled around, fist extended, and, to her surprise, he caught it. 

That, and Dem's height, left Gaz completely deflated. He was taller than her father. _Okay, she thought, __this wasn't a good idea. But I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he scared me. __If he's going to beat me up, so help me, I'm going to go down glaring.  And she looked up to give him that one final glare. _

But Dem's face was so sad. Gaz didn't know much about emotions, but Dem's face was open enough for even her to see what the regret and loneliness he was feeling. This touched her, and for a moment, she was looking at her father's face, a wish she was projecting on Dem. And suddenly he was pulling her up into his arms, holding her close to his chest. 

Gaz stiffened in fear, wildly willing her legs to kick, a scream to well up in her throat, something, anything. But then she felt herself giving in, and her muscles, one by one, smoothed themselves. His body was warm and firm but yet soft. His smell was sweet and kind of dusty, with a salt odor that reminded her of Dib after he spent a day chasing Zim around. _Is this what a hug is like? She thought. __It isn't so bad. And she let her arms and legs and neck dangle against him. _

After what seemed like hours, he slowly bent and placed her on the ground. Gaz wavered. Her brain felt like the wrinkles had been ironed out of it. 

His fingers lifted her chin. She gave no resistance. 

"I'll see you tomorrow." He whispered, his eyes looking into hers. 

Gaz finally managed to breathe. "Whatever," she said. Her voice could have been mistaken for a simple exhalation. As she walked down the steps, she hoped that her gait was steady. When she turned the corner, she found herself breaking into a run. And, as she ran, she felt like she was flying. 


	3. Hands

I still do not own any of these characters. Please read and review. I am a real pig for praise (and a little constructive criticism, if you must) 

Hands

He was there the next day. Gaz's stomach felt as if the mucus had been stripped from her stomach lining, and her stomach was slowly caving in. But she wasn't about to let Deus Ex Machina scare her away. She plopped down next to him, pulled out her Game Slave, and began to play. But she couldn't help sneaking looks at him. His hands, swathed in black bicycle gloves, were the fastest she had ever seen. But they moved so smoothly, like dancers, not like the jerky, spastic movements of most game players.  His fingers struck the keys like a cobra striking a mouse. Gaz's thoughts smashed into one another, running and dripping. 

Oh man he's so good he's probably the ultimate gamer wait no I am the ultimate gamer he's a stranger I don't want him to touch me but yesterday it felt so GOOD—  

Gaz was horrified. She stared at her Game Slave as vampire pigs assaulted her character. When a long, pale fingertip lit on the Game Slave's screen, she could only trail her eyes up the black-sleeved arm. 

"You're dying," Dem said, a shy smile crossing his face. Gaz felt her eyes tear again. 

"Gaz, I'm sorry I made you upset. I know you never get a second chance for a first impression, but…I want to make it up to you." 

Gaz stared at his collarbones. 

"I just got paid. What's your favorite restaurant?" 

Gaz felt her face light up as she jerked her eyes up to look him straight on. "Bloaty's. Take me to Bloaty's."

Gaz and Dem stood at the Whack-A-Wombat game. Dem would occasionally stop to gaze at the morbid little girl standing beside him, and his lips would slowly turn up in a sly grin. Gaz stared straight ahead. She brought her mallet down with such force and speed it made her body tremble at the impact. Finally she stopped, her bangs hanging sweaty on her forehead. 

"Dem," she breathed, "watch this." She squinted her eyes tight and poised over the holes. As the Wombats popped out, her arms seemed to fly almost before they surfaced. She didn't miss one. 

"Jesus." Dem said. "That was awesome." 

Gaz turned and smiled. "I know." 

Dem was shocked at the smile, but even more shocked when Gaz timidly slid her hand into his while crossing the parking lot. A smirk slid across his face as the forbidden thought of her warm, soft little hands on his bare chest popped into his mind. The smirk fled as he pushed the thought away. 

His hands almost circled her hips as he lifted her into his black van. "Oh, shit! It's seven o'clock. What are we gonna say to your parents?"

"Nothing," Gaz shrugged her seat belt on. "My mom is dead and my dad won't care." 

Dem turned the engine. "Well then," he said, "in that case, why don't you spend the night? It is Friday. I've got to work for a couple hours, but we'll make sure you're entertained."

Gaz raised an eyebrow. "What will I wear to sleep? What about brushing my teeth?"

"One of my t-shirts, or we can stop at your house. I'll let you play all my games." 

"Even the R-rated ones?" 

"Anything you want." 

They stopped at a red light and he turned toward her. One of his hands lifted toward her face, and then fell on his lap as the guilty memory of making her cry surfaced. The regret was written on his face. Gaz remembered that moment, and the action that had caused her so much fear and confusion was now what she craved the most. 

She unfastened her seat belt and slowly pulled herself across the seat to him. After a few hesitations, she let her face fall on his chest. Dem stiffened, and she jerked back. 

"No, no, baby, no," he murmured. His van slowed as it pulled to the side of the road, and even before the van stopped lurching he was pulling her to him, gathering her back to his chest, entangling his fingers in her hair. Gaz could feel herself raise and fall slightly with his breath, and his heartbeat was so strong she felt like she was curled up inside one of its chambers. His scent was strong and oddly familiar to Gaz. The scent said one word:"Daddy," and then another, more mysterious one: "Lover." 

She didn't notice that Dem's left hand had softly placed itself on her child's thigh. But he didn't notice, either.   

The review button is calling you….Click meee….click meeeeeeeee…….

            Kisses, K. Therese.


	4. Dib's Insatiable Curiosity

Blah blah blah, Jhonen own. Blah Blah Blah. Read and review.  
  
Dib's Insatiable Curiosity The stop at Gaz's house would be a short one. Gaz only needed her toothbrush. She had decided to sleep in one of Dem's t-shirts, in his smell. That smell still lingered on the front of Gaz's dress and on her fingertips. She held her hand over her face as she darted through the hall and up the stairs like a lightning bolt, past Dib, who was immersed in Mysterious Mysteries. He wouldn't bother her. But the frenzy of Gaz's small feet on the carpet and on the stairs made Dib turn from the T.V. His ten-year-old mind couldn't place the scampering feet. His father didn't run.and Gaz didn't run. Poltergeist!! His mind screamed. A cold sweat broke on his forehead. He stood up slowly, jumping out of his skin when the ball of his foot ground out the minutest of creaks from the floor. Dib stopped, eyes darting, breath held. The creak had sounded like a scream. Three heartbeats hammered in Dib's chest. Nothing. Carpet. Noise absorber. Good thing. Dib thought. He moved to the kitchen on small, scampering feet. He slowly pulled open the top drawer in the forehead high shelf. His slim fingers closed around a rolling pin. He tucked it up under his arm. The smooth, solid heft of it made him smile. He pulled his camera out from the inside pocket of his trench coat. Loaded. He had fifteen pictures left. He took a deep breath and moved toward the stairs, graceful as a shadow. He craned his neck around the stairway. His eyes were so wide he felt the shock of air on normally cloaked parts of his eyeballs. It stung a little, but wasn't unpleasant. Maybe it's a robber but PLEASE let it be a poltergeist or Zim oh, please let it be ZIM and not just a dumb robber. He saw the feet and then the face. The face.it looked wrong. It was still pale and round and soft but the lips were turned up and the eyes were wet and shiny.It couldn't be. "GET OUT OF MY SISTER!" Dib screamed. "GET OUT OF GAZ!! COME INTO ME!! No, wait. Don't come into me. Go into Zim! Yes, GO INTO ZIMoooooohhhh." Dib slumped against the wall, rubbing his sore jaw where Gaz had slugged him, surprise expelling in a sigh of relief. "Well, she isn't possessed. If she were she would've hugged me." Dib's eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. He stared out the gaping front door. He heard the soft slamming on metal on metal and an engine turning, saw the beam of head lights that quickly receded. "What the.Ok, Gaz, you gonna give me a puzzle and think I won't try to solve it? You really don't know me, do you?" 


	5. Smirking Fairies and Seedy Fathers

Silly ol' me. I must never forget that Jhonen owns these characters, except for Dem, who is mine, all mine, mine mine mine!!! But to Jhonen we must be forever grateful.

Smirking Fairies and Seedy Fathers

            Gaz's heart skipped beat after beat. It had been fluttering in her chest since she and Dem had drove away from suburbia into the city, where the houses had been replaced by tall buildings and the soft lights of televisions and living room lamps were eclipsed by neon, just as flesh and bone were replaced by glass and wires. This is how Gaz liked it. Ever since she could push a stepstool and climb on it, she would sit on her window seat and gaze at the lights and the dimly hovering signs. To her, they were one step closer to Gameslave-topia. 

When she was five, Gaz was convinced her father was actually a robot. His skill with machines, and the fact that she never saw him eat or sleep or sneeze or go to the bathroom, convinced her that he wasn't human. But that never lessened her love for him. The other fathers in the neighborhood were sloppy, boring dopes that snored and scratched their butts and then smelled their hands. They made her sick. Her dad was perfect: neat and clean and smart. And the Gameslave he gave her for her sixth birthday was his love letter to her, his promise ring, his heart. It said _I'm proud of you; I'll protect you_, better than any stupid card or quickly vanishing word.  Since then, machinery was the only aspect of humanity that interested her. 

But on this drive with Dem, she stared more and more at the fleshly human beings they passed on the road. She wondered what the men in tattered jeans were saying to the women on the street corner; their shiny skirts horizontally bisecting their butts, their legs swelling out at the knee. Their ankles were the same thickness as the thighs of most women she had seen. She remembered Devi, the lady at the electronics store where she bought her batteries. Her thighs were the same thickness of these women's ankles. She was long and wispy, her bones made out of wire. These people were thick with muscle and rich with fat. And their clothes were all colors: turquoise, aqua, fuchsia…the only colors Devi wore were black and purple. And these women's chests! They bounced! Nothing about Devi bounced. Gaz realized for the first time how sad Devi looked sometimes, how scared—her forehead would wrinkle and her lips would curve down, and little white cracks would appear in her lavender lipstick. And sometimes her big brown eyes would get wet, like mud puddles, only Gaz could see her face in them when Devi gave her batteries, as if her eyes were panes of glass pressed over molasses. In Devi's eyes Gaz was always staring up under her palm fringe eyelashes, scowling. 

Gaz could see little bumps sticking through the women's tissue paper shirts, like buttons. It slowly dawned on her what they were, and, though she tried to turn her face away, her eyes locked with those buttons as if they were eyes staring challengingly at her. Looking at those big, bouncing bodies, she marveled at how soft they looked, and thought of how deep her hand would sink in if she pressed one of them… 

Deeply ashamed at the thought, Gaz turned away, her eyes smarting with embarrassment. She clamped them closed, suddenly reminded of that Mysterious Mysteries episode about telepathy. People can't read your mind, she growled at herself. Don't be stupid. Still, she ran through a level of _Vampire Piggies_ in her mind until all thoughts of plump women's bodies was thoroughly smothered. 

Opening her eyes, Gaz stared down at her own spindly legs and the way her purple dress lay flat on her chest, perplexed. These people were so different from everyone she knew. She wondered if they were…beautiful. She had never thought of that word before. The most attention she gave to it was when she studied it for a spelling test. But now it was repeating over and over in her head—_beautiful, beautiful, beautiful_.  She put her palm on the window as they slowed at a red light, and mouthed the word, feeling it fizzing on the roof of her mouth and inside her nose like an ice-cold Lemon-Poop Cola. She swung her head to Dem, and gazed at him. He was bobbing his head slightly, and she realized that the radio was on. Her eyes jumped from one part of him to another, like fingers picking cherries. His dried-cranberry hair fell between his shoulders, indistinguishable from his black jacket in the darkness of the car. Blue outlined his face, his freckles fading into the shadows swathing his face as if he was wearing a hood. His nose was a graceful slope from his forehead. His skin was the color of skim milk. One hand lay on the steering wheel, lit hot pink by a crimson light, making the skin look raw, the freckles magenta. She could see the outlines of his bones through the skin. They were like a bird's wings. His arms were cables, thin, but able to cradle someone as small as she was. His neck was as soft as powdered snow. 

Her eyes stopped at his mouth. His lips pulled back from his small, sharp teeth every so often, and his tongue would flick out at the air. Looking at it, Gaz was surprised that it could turn sideways. Looking at it again, she saw that it was shiny with spit, and she crossed her legs, pressing the small of her back into the seat. She drew in her breath when he turned at her, smiling. 

"You can turn your tongue sideways," she said.

"Can't you?" He grinned, then curled the sides of his tongue in. "You ever tried that?" 

"No," she said, and tried to make her tongue contort without opening her mouth. Dem smiled. " Stick it out first," he said.  She obeyed, and felt a surge of joy when her own tongue folded in on itself like a sleeping bag made of meat. Even when she grinned the sides stayed a little wavy. Dem laughed, reached over, and ruffled her hair. For a moment Gaz's skin tightened, her veins and arteries bubbling as if every drop of blood whispered _beautiful, beautiful, beautiful_. Then he pressed his fingertip onto her tongue. Gaz drew her lips in, and the sides of her tongue splinted Dem's finger.  

_Beautiful_, she thought. _His finger feels beautiful_.

She pulled her head back, and Dem's finger shone pink and blue with spit and neon. She frowned. 

"Dem," she asked, "do you think I'm, you know, beautiful?" 

He lifted her chin, and she gazed into his sharp blue eyes. He was smiling. "When I was young," he said, "my dad had this book of art on the coffee table. Actually, he still has it. My mother was an artist, and they picked it up somewhere on their honeymoon. People said my parents were bohemians, Gaz. Do you know what that means?"

"People from the land of Bohemia." 

"Well, yes. But the people who said it meant my parents were eccentric. Weird, but in a good kind of way." 

Gaz nodded. She decided that she was going to be Bohemian. 

"After my mom died, my dad went kind of weird. That's something you and I have in common, Gaz. Did your dad pay more attention to you when your mom was alive?" 

"I don't know. I was still in diapers."

            "I'm guessing he probably was," his hand lighted gently on the delicate bones of her shoulder. "Well, this art book, it had a picture in it of a scene from A Midsummer Night's Dream, the play by Shakespeare. And there was a little fairy girl in the picture, who was peering down out of a tree. She had a round, soft face, and she had dark red hair, so dark it was fuchsia, and she had lavender wings. And she had tiny little hands, and tiny little feet, and she was just so casual on that tree branch. She straddled it like she a pony. But the best part was her face. One of her eyebrows was up, and she was all smirking down at Titania and Oberon, like What the hell are these people doing?" He laughed. "I fell in love with that little fairy girl, Gaz. She was so gorgeous, and when I saw you on the steps of your skool, I thought she had finally come to life, and she liked videogames."

            Gaz didn't know what to say. She wished violently that she had a similar story to tell Dem, that she had loved an angel or a sorcerer that looked just like him. Her new feelings for Dem, and the disappointment in her lack of a story for him, made her feel like crying. But she wasn't going to. She was going to be that little fairy come to life for him.    

            "Dem."

            "Yeah." 

            " How did your father go crazy?" 

            Dem sighed and bit his lip. For the first time in her life, Gaz wasn't too proud to beg. She had to know. "Please, Dem. I won't tell anybody. I promise." 

            "I want to tell you, Gaz, but I'm not sure you'll understand. I mean, you can handle it, but…Jesus Christ, I was gonna bring you in the backdoor." He paused. "After my mom died, my dad started a business. And it's a seedy business, Gaz. You know those women on the corner? With the big tits?  And those guys with the tight jeans? Those are the type of people who work for my dad. He makes a lot of money, and he likes his work, so it's okay by me." 

            Gaz stared at him. Was he afraid of what she would think? He didn't have to be. It barely surprised her that it didn't even bother her that he had said 'tits.' And, though she had never heard the word before, she knew what 'seedy' meant. 

"I think your dad's going to be nice," she said. 

            He turned and smiled at her, his grin sheepish and relieved. He lifted her hand and pressed it to his mouth. 

            Gaz swore that between the softness of his lips she felt the firm little point of his tongue flick over her skin. 


	6. Dem's Daddy, the Mayor of Butt Town

Jhonen Vasquez owns these characters. Hurray for Jhonen! Except for Dem, whom Kathy owns. Hurray for Kathy! And Iggy Pop wrote a song called "Butt Town." Hurray for Iggums! And Trent Reznor owns the lyrics for 'Closer,' and Motley Crue owns the lyrics for 'Looks that Kill.' Hurray for Motley Crue! Hip, Hip, Hurray! Hip, Hip, Hurray! And an orgasm for Trent Reznor!

Dem's Daddy, the Mayor of Butt Town!

Dem and Gaz pulled up to a place straight from _Ghost Theft Edom: The Haunting of Mice City_—neon lights showed dancing girls and flickering martini glasses. Searchlights of lavender and scarlet arced back and forth over the sky, their ends lost to the cosmos—except for one that constantly bumped into a gray cloud mass that hung with the weight and solemnity of Golem. Floodlights of spearmint and lime engulfed the squat brick building like a neon amoeba. A sign was staked on top of the building like an explorer's flag atop Mt. Everest, proclaiming in racing stripe letters that the name of this wondrous place was BUTT TOWN.

Dem pulled around to the back of the building, put the car in park, and turned the ignition off. Gaz heard a throbbing hum, punctuated by bass groans. Dem turned and smiled, reaching over to ruffle her hair. But anxiety brightened his eyes with a moist sheen, and Gaz saw that the crescent of raspberry colored wetness on the inside of his bottom lip had dried up into a grayish pink. Gaz could see his taste buds when he licked his lips.

"You ready, baby doll?" His voice was higher than usual, and his hand went over and over and over her hair.

"Yeah. What's in there?"

Dem's eyes shifted over to the building, his smile frozen on his face. His hand slowed to a stop, gripping a section of her hair. He looked ghastly, and Gaz felt alarm widening her eyes. She didn't know what scared her more—his face, or the feeling it roused in her.

He brought his eyes back to her face, the lids falling slightly. He sighed loudly.

He's just annoyed, Gaz thought in relief. I know that feeling.

Dem opened his door so quickly and with such force Gaz jumped, but he was already out and coming toward her side, thumbs hooked in his pockets. Opening her door, he reached behind her seat and pulled out a thick, coarse yellow blanket. Tucking it under his arm, he unfastened her belt and pulled her to his chest, lifting her out of her seat. He paused a moment, pressing Gaz tighter and tighter to him, and she heard his breathing quicken, just for a moment, and then he breathed deeply, as if inhaling something. From the way his chest caved in slightly Gaz could tell his head was dropped. He rolled the blanket around her tightly, like a straitjacket, and then pulled the slack over her head like a hood. Gaz felt like ET.

Striding around the concrete building, Dem cleared his throat.

"Gaz," he whispered, " I need you to be really quiet for me. Don't make a peep. Pretend that this is Rabbit Reconnaissance, we're doing a double-player, and we're sneaking into Don Badger's stronghold."

"Past the Aardvark goons," Gaz gasped.

"Yeah. So keep it zipped."

The neon bled onto them and the walls throbbed. Gaz looked up at the night sky, stabbed by a broken, jutting gutter, and held her breath, waiting for the building's walls to turn to flesh, and that flesh to break into full, red lips, and a steamy tongue, the color of frozen steak, to flip out and coil around her and Dem. She was afraid of this building, but she also desperately wanted to see what made the walls pulse.

_Maybe Dem is a vampire_, she thought, _and he's going to drain me once we get inside_. She imagined being eight years old forever, dressed in a long purple gown, in a little black coffin with purple trim. The thought thrilled her, and her head fell back in a swoon. The yellow hood tilted off her face.

At that moment Gaz heard a door open, and looked up. They were at the foot of a concrete slope that led to a doorway. A woman was standing in the doorway, a cigarette dangling from her tar-black lower lip. Her hair was white and fell over her chest, barely covering her naked tits. Gaz jerked her gaze away and was greeted by more bare flesh, the belly a sheet of paper blackened by her bellybutton, and far, far below the bellybutton was a triangle of black lace. Gaz saw the sweat shining on the woman's neck, in the hollow between her breasts, and the inside of her thighs bordered in blue by the neon, and felt dizzy. She clutched at Dem, who put his hand on her cheek, turning her face into his shoulder.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Annette!"

"Hey there, Junior, didn't mean to startle ya!" The lady's voice was bright and loud, fuzzy and sweet like a peach. Gaz could hear her high heels clicking on the concrete as the woman walked toward them and pressed her face harder into Dem's shirt, breathing in his smell, hoping that it would cloak her.

"Whatcha got there, Colt?" Fingertips that smelled like apple cider and harsh smoke skittered through Gaz's hair, pulling back the rest of the blanket. Gaz opened her eyes and turned with her hardest glare into the woman's black painted mouth and wide brown eyes. The woman started back. _Good_, Gaz thought, _now she'll leave us alone_.

The woman stared at Gaz for a few seconds, then grinned widely. Her breasts threatened to push through the screen of her hair.

"Oh…my…God…she…is…ADORABLE!" The woman grabbed Gaz's chin and tilted it up, threatening to suffocate her with the smell of cider and smoke. Gaz thought of Christmas, and the thought was quickly shaken away as the woman jerked her chin right and left. "Look at this cute widdle face! Is this your baby, Coltie? She looks so wise! Like a little Eskimo Shaman!" The woman put the tip of her nose on Gaz's and rubbed it back and forth before Dem stepped back. The woman smiled blankly at Dem and Gaz, and Gaz saw how large her pupils were. She also saw that she had a cold, because there was a white crust underneath her nose. But the crust didn't look right. It was too white, and too dry, and too powdery to be boogers.

I guess women really do powder their noses, Gaz thought.

"Well, I guess the Colt's now a Stallion too, huh? Just like his Daddy? Guess there's gonna be a cockfight. At least let the Filly meet her Grandpappy. Who's the Baby Mama?"

Dem's voice was soft and annoyed. "Annette, she's not my daughter."

"Then whose is she?"

"She's a friend's. I'm babysitting her for a friend."

Annette looked from Dem to Gaz to Dem again, and her eyes narrowed. She slowly lifted one arm, and then brought her index finger down smack on Dem's chest.

"Listen to me, you little fuck," she said through clenched teeth, her finger jabbing Dem in the chest again, making Gaz's eyes smart in sympathy, "If I see one bruise on this child, if I see her walk funny, if I see anything, ANYTHING, on her that makes me even suspect—"

"Stop it," Gaz said. "Leave him the fuck alone. He's my best friend, and if you touch him again I swear I will destroy you."

Dem stiffened, and his arms tightened around Gaz. Annette stared at Gaz's mouth, her eyes round and glistening like fried eggs and her mouth the size and shape of a Cheerio. Gaz thought that breakfast time was twelve hours away, and felt a little bit of hunger slowly seeping into her stomach.

Annette smiled.

"You," Annette said, "You, little girl, are a mean-assed little bitch!" Her long, black fingernail poked Gaz in the stomach through the blanket. "That's what you are, a ball-breaking, tit-biting, dirty little BITCH!" She was tickling Gaz now, her fingers doing a tattoo on her belly, and Gaz was laughing. The words Annette called her were swelling to the top of her head and bursting, like bubbles in a water cooler. They were shocking words, and it shocked Gaz that she wasn't angry. She had never been touched like this, never been talked to this much before, and felt very naked, but also a little proud. Out of Annette's mouth, these weren't insults, but the greatest compliments.

Dem jerked Gaz away from Annette's poking fingers. "The money for this little girl's therapist is coming directly out of your fucking paycheck, Annette," he said.

"But I made her smile!" Annette said. She cocked her hip and twirled a strand of her cobweb hair. Her ends were beginning to split. "Speaking of therapy, what the fuck are you doing bringing her here? She a new recruit?"

"No," Dem said. "I need to talk to Dad."

"Well, why didn't you just leave her in the car?"

"Because I don't know how long I'm going to be and there's perverts prowling all over the place. Besides, it's roasting hot. So," he shrugged, "no matter what I do it's child abuse."

Gaz had wriggled out of Dem's arms and had slid down his body to the ground. She gazed past Annette's underpants clad, soap-carved form and could see a pulsing light a few shades lighter than her hair, a premature eggplant color. She could see silhouettes in that light, fleshy and full, sometimes just a brief cutout of a person walking, sometimes an arm flung outward from a fleshy profile. And the music had words now:

_Now listen up_

_She's a razor sharp_

Annette put a hand on Gaz's shoulder. The hand flitted away and was replaced by the gentle heaviness of Dem's.

_Move like a cat_

If she don't get her way 

_Well you might not make it back_!

"I'll make sure she doesn't see anything," Gaz heard Annette say over the music, a soft birdsong in a heavy wind.

_She got the looks that kill!_

_That kiiillll! _

_She got the look!_

_Yes_, Gaz thought, _I certainly do_, and, putting on her fiercest face, she strode through the doorway, one boot in front of the other, the brittle skeleton hand of Annette again on her shoulder, guiding her through.

The bass-throb of the music and the pools of neon light made the yellowing, stucco walls seem to undulate like a serpent's body, the wavy roughness like scales. Annette had her hand on Gaz's head now, and now was aiming her to the left, through a doorway. The doorway opened into a dressing room. There were two girls, one seated in a folding chair in front of the light bulb framed mirror, and the other in a fuzzy blue recliner that sat up against the wall, its smoky color looking out of place next to the orange of the walls and the yellow of the light bulbs.

The girl in the recliner had a large, extremely pouf-y pink and blue feather boa draped around her shoulders and a tiara perched crookedly on top of her head. Her hair was the color of cherry lip-gloss and just as shiny. Her skin was copper-y. She glanced up from her _Secretly For Men Magazine_ and stared disinterestedly at Gaz and Annette with large, heavy lidded hazel eyes. Her gum cracked and popped between her teeth and its grape aroma was strong enough to be smelled through the cigarette haze that clung to the ceiling.

The girl in front of the mirrors tapped out the last of her cigarette, took a swig of soda, and reapplied lipstick the color of pomegranate Poop Cola, all in three seconds. Her hair was the softest chocolate Gaz had ever seen, and her chest was flatter than both Annette's and the gum-chewing girl's. She had on the same skirt and blouse the Catholic school kids wore, only much tighter and shorter.

"God I hate this fucking outfit," she hissed. "It's so cliché, it makes me just want to fucking puke and OH MY GOD, WHAT, WHAT THE, WHAT IS SHE DOING HERE!"

The girl at the mirrors had spun around and was grasping at the counter behind her, like she was flattened up against the side of a ten-story building. She stared at Gaz with wide lavender eyes. Then she gave her head a quick shake, gave a fleeting, terrified smile to Gaz, and then glared at Annette.

"Annette, you stupid bitch—I'm sorry honey—what the—why don't you cover your ears, sweetie, this is gonna get ugly, or better yet, go outside!"

"Oh, calm down, Tammi. She told me to get my fucking hands off of Colt in the parking lot."

"She did?" Tammi looked at Gaz. "Well, shit. Is she your daughter?"

"Nah, I think she's his, quite frankly. He's just trying to dodge child support."

"Oh, he wouldn't do that," said the lady from the recliner.

Tammi cut her eyes toward her. "And how would you know, Jazzy? Personal experience?"

"Fuck you. He's a nice guy. A little weird with that gothic shit and the video games, but he's so sweet I'd eat him with a spoon." She smiled at Gaz. "What's your name, honey?"

"Gaz."

"Hmmm. Odd name. Is it short for something?"

Gaz crossed her arms. "I ain't telling."

"That's okay. Jazzy isn't my real name either." And, with that, Jazzy went back to her magazine.

The music stopped, and Gaz heard men's voices begin to murmur. Then a low, booming voice came on over an intercom.

"Okay boys, next up in five minutes is Jazzy—"

"Fuck," Jazzy rolled her eyes. "I wanna finish this article."

"But let's take that five minute break to get fresh, jizz-free dollar bills. And keep our juices flowing and our dicks hard with that Budweasle, the sudsy hot-tub for our pickled brains. Jazzy will be right on."

"No I won't," Jazzy sing-songed, leisurely reading her article. Gaz wondered what jizz was, and what it meant to have a hard dick. What did it all mean?

Gaz heard a thumping of boots and the jangling of a chain coming down the hallway. A tall, broad bulk of a man with a dirty-blonde goatee and stringy, shoulder length hair clumped into the room.

"Goddammit Jazzy, you have five seconds to put that shit covered rag down and get ready." It was the man on the loudspeaker. "I'm starting the countdown now. Tammi, don't wear those shoes. They ain't high enough."

"But I was going for a patent leather look—"

"Wear the spiky ones. This ain't a runway. You aren't showing off the new fall line. Annette, what's the theme for your next dance? Jazzy, get your ass up!"

"I'm thinking maybe girl scout."

"Not right after Catholic school girl. Jazzy, get up and get ready! Jesus!"

He lowered his eyes to Gaz then. He didn't seem surprised to see her there. As they stared at each other, Gaz saw he had the same lips as Dem, and the same high cheekbones. This was Dem's dad, she just knew it.

Dem's dad turned back to Annette. "How about the Devil Wench? We haven't seen that in a while." He tilted his head toward the recliner. "Jazzy, I swear to God…"

But Jazzy was gone. She had set her crown, tossed on some makeup, and left, her heels clicking down the hallway in that strange way heels do when they're worn by somebody who thrusts out their butt and swings their legs when they walk, placing one foot directly in front of the other, toes touching down first. There was a loud cheering and hooting. Jazzy was on the stage now, doing whatever it was these naked women did. Gaz wanted to find out. She tried to remember what Dib did when he wanted to find something out, but decided that all of it was just too much effort. So she was leaning out the door, peering around the corner, when she felt two big hands clasp her around the shoulders and pull her into the room. The big hands lifted her high off the ground, dizzyingly high, and then the hands gave her a little push toward the ceiling and she lost contact with them briefly before falling back into the little cradle the hands made. Then it happened again, and again, and each time she got closer to the ceiling, until she could stick out her tongue and touch it. Then the hand on the right gave her more of a shove than the left and she rolled lazily in the air, landing stomach down on the waiting bowl of the big hands.

Now she was face to face with Dem's Daddy. He brought each of her cheeks to his smiling mouth and kissed them, and his lips felt like the belly of a porcupine, a warm softness surrounded by the harsh quills of his moustache and goatee. He held her at arm's length. His eyes were knife blades being drawn slowly over everything they looked at.

"So," he said softly, "you're my boy's new little girlfriend. Well, I got just the thing for you." He turned and sat Gaz on the makeup corner. Then he reached into the pocket of his jean jacket and pulled out a can of Poop. Gaz felt the dryness of her tongue and licked her lips. Dem's daddy's eyes brightened as he stared at her mouth.

"Dillon's got some chores to do for me," the man said, popping open the can, and his hand dipped into his pocket briefly. He pulled his hand out and placed the palm over the opening of the can. "So maybe you can hang out here for a while, watch a little T.V." He turned to a cupboard and opened the doors, revealing a television. He flicked it on, turning its black, smudgy mirror into a moving picture. He moved Gaz from the counter to the recliner. He sat on the arm of the chair. The T.V. was turned to a crime show, and a man who looked vaguely like the ice-cream man was being interrogated by a cop who looked extraordinarily like Gaz's teacher. Dem's Daddy stroked Gaz's hair.

"Such a beautiful little girl," he said, softly. "I wish I had a little girl. I wish I was your daddy."

"You are lucky," Gaz said. "You have Dem."

"And now he has you," Dem's dad said. "We'll all have fun together." And with that, he got up and walked out.

The T.V. didn't hold much interest for Gaz, so she looked for some paper to draw on. For some reason, her eyes were getting heavy, and the rest of her body felt very light, like her muscles and bones had been replaced with feathers and the bouncy gel balls the kids at school played hacky-sack with. Annette finally gave her some paper and a pen, and Gaz set to work drawing a picture of Dem. The lights seem to swirl and deepen, and she felt her face pull back into a smile so tight it was impossible to retract. The feeling of smiling was less uncomfortable than she thought it would be.

_You let me violate you _

_You let me desecrate you_

_You let me penetrate you_

You let me complicate you 

Gaz wanted nothing more than to lie down and look at the lights grow softer, until she could touch them.

_Help me I broke apart my insides _

_Help me I got no soul to tell_

Gaz slid down to the ground, her muscles and bones gliding into place and loosening. Her jaw opened slightly, and her hands raised the picture she drew of Dem's face so it hovered over her, looking into her eyes.

_Help me the only thing that works for me_

Gaz gave a tiny belch and giggled. That one giggle was soon a whole torrent, a torrent she was unable to stop. Whenever she closed her mouth they burst through the dam of her teeth.

Help me get away from myself 

"Oh shit," she heard Tammi say. "That son of a bitch slipped her something."

"She's so cute," said Annette.

"That's not the point, you dumb crack whore."

_I want to fuck you like an animal_

That voice singing that he wanted to fuck her over the ticking and whirring and humming of sound made Gaz's hips involuntarily thrust. Her panties were now extremely conspicuous, and she was aware of how her shirt lay across her chest, the weight of it, how it rubbed against her bare skin. She stared at Dem's face, fighting to keep her eyes open.

_I want to feel you from the inside_

Gaz breath hitched and she squirmed, her body boneless and liquid. The eyes she drew for Dem stared back at her, and she realized that she could never draw him in such a way that would do him justice. She lowered the picture, willing his face to be there where the drawing was.

_I want to fuck you like an animal_

Gaz's eyelids fought a losing battle. They finally slid slowly down over her eyeballs, no matter how her brain screamed at them to stay open.

_My whole existence is flawed_

Gaz's brain was turning to the same gel and feather mixture as her muscles. All she could hear was the voice, getting so close it was whispering in her ear, then further and further away while she grasped after it. Her arms went limp, the picture falling onto her chest.

_You get me closer to God_

And that is how Dem found her an hour later, flat on her back on the dressing room floor, a cushion under her head, her arms crossed over the portrait of the person she loved most, hugging it close to her heart.


End file.
